


Let the World Spin Madly On

by thelittlegreennotebook



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlegreennotebook/pseuds/thelittlegreennotebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something about Oliver that just won’t get out of her head. It’s a little bit like her babbling, actually: constant and unavoidable and probably (definitely, in this case) annoying. She wishes someone would just shut it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the World Spin Madly On

**Author's Note:**

> Something that definitely won't happen but was fun to write, at least, and presumably takes place somewhere within 3x08 of Arrow. Happy Thanksgiving, if you celebrate! Title from The Weepies song "World Spins Madly On."

Here’s the stark, unabashed truth: it’s not as if this isn’t killing her, too. It’s not as if she isn’t constantly distracted, too consumed in her own thoughts, stuck on this feeling like her heart is beating a little crookedly, a little off beat.

It’s not as if she just kisses Ray Palmer, cool as anything, and ignores the flush on her cheeks because _he’s not Oliver, he’s not Oliver, he’s not Oliver._ Not as if she goes home to dream about her and Ray’s three story house and two children and happy life together up in their glass offices at Queen Cons— _Palmer Technologies_. It’s not as if she can just _move on_.

But it’s not as if she doesn’t wish she could, either.

There’s just something about Oliver that just won’t get out of her damn head. It’s a little bit like her babbling, actually: constant and unavoidable and probably (definitely, in this case) annoying. She wishes someone would just _shut it up_.

But it’s there, in the staccato, broken beating of her heart and the small inhale of her breath when he’s standing next to her, always just a little bit too close. It’s latched onto her very cells and veins and Felicity’s not _stupid_ —she knows those parts of her that dedicate themselves to him will only die when she does.

And how do you move on from something like that? From a feeling that imprints on your lips and sets fire to your nerves? From a complicated, brooding vigilante who has lost entirely too much and still has the capacity to love? Love in a backwards, suffering, I-refuse-to-surrender-to-happiness kind of way, but love nonetheless.

She knows that she wants more than that—that she deserves more than that. In fact, she suddenly, inexplicably finds herself surrounded by charming, handsome, emotionally available vigilantes who want to give her more. But Oliver—well, like she said. There’s something about him.

Contrary to how hard she’s worked to keep everything together, it splits apart when that whole… _thing_ goes down between Oliver and Barry. It’s harder to keep things contained when one of her good friends (who kissed her) and her brooding ex- _something_ (who, incidentally, also kissed her) start in on the whole _macho man_ crap that she would probably appreciate a bit more if it involved a higher number of shirtless torsos. Now, of course, is when they insist on keeping their superman suits on.

Oliver is worked up because there are too many people involved in this and _surprise, surprise_ , he’s a one-man-jobkind of guy. Barry is doing what he does best—in that he’s annoying the hell out of Oliver—and Oliver is doing what he does best—in that he’s brooding about it—and everything sort of comes to a breaking point.

It starts very much the same way that a lot of their arguments do: with her walking after him as he tries to make a sweeping exit, telling him he’s an idiot.

“You can’t do this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

_Dear, sweet God, not again._ “Oliver—“

“ _Felicity._ ”

Her stomach clenches at that, of course, and she’s a little too aware of the fact that, yeah, there are a lot of people involved in this. A lot of people who are all clustered down in the foundry, watching them.

“Look,” she says before he can keep talking in that growly way of his that dissolves her bones into liquid _want_. “There are a lot of people who are here to _help_ —“ she gestures at Barry and glares at him pointedly when he smirks because _okay, not helping_. She’s going to have to talk to him about the increasing cockiness, but another time and place. “—So _let them_.”

Oliver’s shaking his head before the words are out of her mouth. “This isn’t something that they can—“

“Handle?” Felicity asks, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms over her chest. “How about you let other people decide what they can or cannot handle, for once.”

The air shifts right then, and if Felicity could read minds she’s sure she’d be spot on. Cisco and Caitlin, surprised by the crackling tension. Barry, amused, especially after that conversation on the train. Lyla, probably about to interrupt because this interaction just switched out of business mode and that’s not something of which she’s particularly fond. Digg, who places a hand on Lyla’s forearm because he’d rather this conversation happen on the cusp of an imminent apocalypse than not happen at all. Roy, probably also amused, because who doesn’t love when Oliver’s ass is about to be handed to him?

She’s not about to stop herself from doing it, either, because her patience is wearing thin today and something’s gotta give.

“Not everything is up to you, Oliver,” she tells him, not even bothering to hide the subtext from her words as she steps closer to him. After all, he’s been none-too-subtle with all of his stupid, noble speeches that are never about her but are _always_ about her. “You don’t get to make decisions for other people and call it heroism.”

He flicks his bow once, rolling it up and then down again with his wrist, and tilts his head down slightly. He’s shuffling his feet, battling an internal struggle to the same boring, heartbreaking end, no doubt, and—

“I know that,” he says.

Of all the things she expected to come out of his mouth, that wasn’t one of them.

She’s stunned into silence for just a moment, and remembers Digg saying not too long ago that Oliver would rather go ten rounds with the League of Assassins than ever admit he was wrong. Barry Allen & Co. is no League of Assassins, and yet here they are.

“Okay,” Felicity says slowly, because her frustration had been calling all the shots five seconds ago and now the rug seems to be ripped out from under it, leaving her with no ground to stand on. He’s staring at her intently, expectantly, and for once in her life it’s taking too long to get words from her brain to her mouth.

She clears her throat. “Okay, then.” She shifts automatically back into her normal self, the self she is when she and Oliver are actually working together as a team. It’s a feeling she’s missed more than she’d care to admit. “Cisco and Caitlin, start re-modulating the search for that IP address, sorting by manufacturer,” she says, still keeping her eyes on Oliver.

“Diggle, Roy…Barry,” Oliver says. “We’ll run reconnaissance based on the information we do have. Lyla, contact your A.R.G.U.S. affiliates and see if they have a clue as to this guy’s endgame.”

There’s a flurry of movement as everyone bursts into action, relieved to have orders that might actually lead to some progress. After one long, lingering look, Felicity and Oliver turn their separate ways: Felicity to lead the search by technology, and Oliver to lead the one on foot.

Things persist like that for hours. Oliver and the crew flit in and out of the foundry to check in, rest, and piece together more intel. Cisco, Caitlin and Felicity scan database after database, keeping their eyes glued to the screens for any anomalies. Lyla is pacing back and forth against the cold, concrete floor with her phone pressed to her ear, switching languages as often as she switches numbers and never touching the same dialect twice.

The hours trickle by and the search continues well into the night. Felicity can do this forever, analyzing numbers and patterns, but she can tell from his tone over the comms that Oliver is bundling himself into a heavy coat of impatience. She wants to comment on how this would be taking ten times as long if he had insisted on going it alone, but something about the way he’s been speaking to her—just to her—over their link makes her think that he already knows that.

They’ve reached a resting point when the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place. Cisco’s been rerouting the search, practically writing an entire program to modify the current program as it works, and Felicity’s eyes have become practiced enough in the new code to find what they’re looking for.

Lyla finally hangs up the phone. Barry stops scarfing down the pile of the energy bars that’s large enough to provide for a small country, immediately hopping off of his perch on the table to pull his mask down over his eyes. They’re on the move in a heartbeat, Oliver, Digg, Roy and Barry, ready to finally put this entire ordeal to rest.

Felicity is walking blindly around the tables, weaving in and out of the rows of equipment with her tablet held between her hands. She’s reading off the new information into her comm, knowing that Digg and Roy are already bounding up the steps. Barry bolted out about .02 seconds ago. And Oliver—

She feels a strong hand clasp around her wrist and tug her sideways, behind the barricade of a support column and a rack of arrows. Her breath leaves her lungs so fast she’s sure even Barry wouldn’t be able to keep up with it.

“Oliver?” she asks warily, because it’s him, right in front of her with his body so close that her back is pressed into the concrete behind her. She can’t move half an inch without touching him.

He doesn’t say anything at first, and they stand there like that, breathing together in the dark shadows of the foundry for a moment that seems to spiral out into eternity. She’s clutching her tablet to her chest and she’s sure Digg is murmuring in her ear, asking why she’s stopped talking. But Oliver is looking down at her like her very existence keeps the world turning and she has no focus for anything that isn’t the man standing in front of her. She tries to swallow against the feelings, molten and heavy, that lodge in her throat.

When his hand comes up to skim feather-light along her waist, her heart slams against her ribcage with such force that it propels her to close the miniscule gap between their torsos. His other hand lands gently against her cheek, cupping her jawline, thumb gliding delicately across her cheekbone. He’s not wearing gloves, like he knows that the touch of his rough, warm skin against hers makes her come undone. Touching Ray didn’t feel like this— _kissing_ Ray came nowhere close to this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes a dark, dangerous blue. She’s trembling from the sheer magnitude of emotion in his voice, the chaos that has become her vital, internal organs. He bends so that his forehead rests against hers, and their noses skim together with a touch as precious as glass. Felicity’s eyes flutter shut of their own accord. She can feel his heart beating between them, keeping time with their mingled inhales and exhales.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. His voice is a mix of sorrow and regret and now—now, with a press of his palm against her rib cage—hope.

She nods, a soft, jerky movement that strokes her forehead against his, brings their lips closer together. “I know,” she says quietly, a low blend of forgiveness and understanding and desire.

He nods back, lifts his head until his lips make contact with the top of her head, presses a kiss to the edge of her hairline. Then he’s gone as quickly as he came, grabbing his bow and dashing up the stairs after his partners.

Felicity stands there for a moment more, pressed into the column, and lets her senses slowly branch back out to the world around her. She releases a breath slowly, allows her heart to double-check that it can keep beating, before pushing away from the cold concrete and walking back into the main area of the foundry.

Digg is still murmuring in her ear and Cisco and Caitlin are talking fast over each other and she’s pretty sure that Barry has already managed to break a bone or two. But once _his_ voice comes on over the communication links, take-charge and fast-paced and determined, Felicity relaxes back into her chair. Because, yeah, the beat of her heart is a little crooked, a little off beat. But Oliver’s is, too, and maybe—just maybe—that’s a start.


End file.
